Le Monstre Dort dans le Jardin
by trapt-tage
Summary: Oneshot. Drabble from the point of view of Dark. Set after a certain pair of boys go on a date with a certain pair of girls. Warning: mentions events from book 10


Disclaimer: I don't own DNAngel.

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_Le Monstre Dort dans le Jardin _

_And forth came from the blackness_

_the wings upon which only despair could fly._

_The rain was that of feathers, _

_and tears were that of the night._

_The questions, they came in handfuls, _

_the sobs; one-by-one in mouthfuls, _

_and the pain, hollowing its dark master, in soul-fuls._

I could sit for hours, and watch her, sitting with her innocence just in front of me. She was so near…how could I have failed her? How can I say that I'll sit and watch for hours, but in a time of desperation I wasn't there to watch her at all? Who is the monster here? Is _he_ the demon; the one that swooped down with the swiftness of a sly eagle and the conceit of a mighty dragon? Is _he_ the monster? The monster that flies on invisible wings?

Or am I? Am I not just the dark half of the mirror image? Am I not the angel's opposite? Was I not the one that told her I would be there with her - for her - mere minutes before I let her vanish into the night? Vanish in the hands of a spirit worth less magic than it took time to create him, no less? My wings failed me when I could have used them, drained me when I _couldn't_ use them, and all but broke me without her. How could I have let something so beautiful be carried off by such a character of insanity?

The Hikari's Argentine - to think there is no haughtier and no more skilled a thief than I, and yet such a precious possession was stolen right out from under me. Right out from above me. This time, I was the one to find a calling card in sharply written letters, with deep black ink. It wasn't my name on that card, saying that I had taken the Sacred Maiden; it wasn't my signature in that flaring style that screamed of conceded confidence and boastful pride. For that larcenous brat had made off with what was not his for the taking, and I played the role of the dumbfounded victim, learning much too late that every step of precaution he had taken had failed him spitefully in the end.

And of my rage? It burned. My body? It nearly tore beneath the force. My pain? I couldn't tell mine from the boy's, actually. The fire inside me that licked every bone in that center of my chest, and the tearing of ligaments, splintering of bones, muscles shredding for the protruding black wings…I lost the one I had promised to love and protect, and I nearly crushed the one I held most dearest to me. Or maybe _he_ nearly crushed _me_. _Us_. But undoubtedly…

I am a monster. There is no questioning that. Just as the ever malicious and sweet tongued Krad is a demon of light, I am a monster just the same. We are not different, only when I realized what I really was, many generations and incarnations back, I did not let on to my Tamer the knowledge that I had perceived. Hell, I nearly twisted myself inside and out to fight it from showing. Krad, on the other hand, realized the cold, soulless truth behind his being, and he did not hide it for the protection of others. Rather, he exploited it, using it as his excuse for the murders and the sensual hatred. Oh yes, he is a monster, alright.

But we are both monsters nonetheless. Wings do not come forth to humans of a normal disposition, only those that walk among us who house monsters in their very genes. There is no parasite that can claim kindness to its host, crack through its very backbone with force and disregard, and still believe its own lies. I know that it causes Krad no guilt to fold his host and crush his bones atwain and asunder, but that is because he knows what he is, and he no longer hides it. He says that he 'loves' his host, he says it every incarnation, and yet he doesn't fear harming his 'precious' host.

Me? I hide, I lie, I laugh, and I deny. But I am a monster, and it has shown through at last. Because there is a foolish bastard that was once created of oil and canvas, and that has treaded where not even my rival and counterpart has yet to tread, and he has awoken the beast inside the boy. The demon that has truly been sleeping for so long now flew with constraints thrown to the wind hither or thither, with wings that were no longer borrowed.

And so what do I do? I do nothing. And I let the boy handle it. Because I can't. Because monsters don't come to the rescue.

_And forth came from the blackness_

_the wings upon which only despair could fly._

_The rain was that of feathers, _

_and tears were that of the night._

_The questions, they came in handfuls, _

_the sobs; one-by-one in mouthfuls, _

_and the pain, hollowing its dark master, in soul-fuls._

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End file.
